


streetlights glow

by owlinaminor, poorwayfairingstranger



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27017098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poorwayfairingstranger/pseuds/poorwayfairingstranger
Summary: Tom leans in close, tilts his head up and presses a kiss to Will’s cheek.  His lips are soft, gentle, like the stars somewhere up there beyond this rain—still shimmering.Blakefield Kisstober 2020: Day 14, Angry Kisses.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25
Collections: Blakefield Kisstober 2020





	streetlights glow

**Author's Note:**

> art/writing collaboration between anna and betsy!
> 
> betsy regretfully announces that the title and epigraph are from [a coldplay song](https://open.spotify.com/track/0VpFFXnT2kNjqJmTv57aZi?si=2M8AFnEqRrqFXDsa4SVwZw)

> _Oh, love, don't let me go,_ _  
> __Won't you take me where the streetlights glow?_

They are halfway to the bus stop when the rain starts.

It comes in slow at first—Will feels a prick on the back of his neck, like a slightly-stronger, slightly-wetter gust of wind, and he pauses between the corner deli and the boarded-up laundromat to look up. The sky is inky blue, a few stars just visible beyond the haze of city lights.

“Did you feel that?” he asks.

“What?” says Tom, tugging at him from the right side.

“I thought I felt—”

And then it hits. Another drop lands on Will’s forehead, and then they’re coming down on his neck, his shoulders, his bare arms. _Shit,_ he should’ve brought a jacket. Why didn’t he bring a jacket? It was warm when they left for the movie, but the theater was so intensely air-conditioned he had to spend the whole time curled up against Tom. And now it’s windy, and the sunlight has faded, and the rain is _cold,_ pouring down like a waterfall in acceleration.

“Shit,” Will says. He’s still looking up, as though he could find the source of the downpour and insult it personally.

“Come on.” Tom tugs—his hand is a spot of warmth, tight against Will’s palm. “We can make the bus, we’ve got six minutes.”

Will looks at him. Even in the faint light echoing through the deli windows, he’s iridescent—bright cheeks, deep blue eyes, curls already flattened by the rain.

“We run for it, yeah?” Tom says. And before Will can argue, he takes off.

Will isn’t a runner. He can go to the gym, alright, he can get on the elliptical, and he can pick an old rock album, and he can bang out half an hour like that. But he doesn’t enjoy it, not the way Tom does—swerving around puddles, dashing across streets just before the light turns, laughing when he gets hit by a spray of water from a passing truck. Will tries to keep up, tries to hold onto Tom’s hand, but his shoes aren’t cut out for this and for Christ’s sake he was _napping_ by the end of that film so he’s mostly relegated to one-minute sprints, followed by ten-second lean-down-and-pants. He tries to play a song in his head, something to give him a pace, but all that comes to mind is a tinny piano melody half-remembered, as though emanating up from underwater. The rain doesn’t let up.

“One more block!” Tom shouts, taking a running leap across a puddle at yet another street corner. How he’s keeping track of the street names, Will has no idea.

Will follows—he jumps across, but somewhere along the way his long legs get confused—he lands awkwardly on his left foot, has to put a hand up against a pole to steady himself. He looks up, panting: Tom is already several meters up ahead, sprinting full-force towards the bus stop.

But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The bus—the _motherfucking godforsaken bus—_ is pulling away.

Will breathes out a long sigh, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walks up to the designated section of sidewalk. The rain keeps coming, singing all available stretches of Will’s skin. Is this really rain, he wonders. Is it possibly sleet, or very small pieces of hail? The climate is changing, right, maybe October is hail month now. That’d be just Will’s luck.

Tom is already huddled under the bus shelter when Will gets there, one hand held up in a belated _fuck-you_ salute in the bus’ vague direction.

“This is all your fault, you know,” Will says.

Tom’s mouth falls open, and then he pouts. It’s almost comical how he can pout, really, with those pursed lips so red as though he’s been biting them for practice. Almost criminal.

“Because you just _had_ to get another popcorn on your way out, didn’t you,” Will goes on. “Couldn’t just piss and then walk to the bus, could you, and now we missed it, and I’ve ruined this shirt—”

“Will,” Tom says.

He’s still pouting, but he’s added an arm, extended out to where Will is standing at the edge of the awning. He looks surreal under this light—where the intense fluorescent lights would wash out anyone else, they just illuminate Tom from inside-out, like he’s a star cast down to this corner of Baker and Fulton. It’s hard to look at him head on.

“Will,” Tom repeats. “Babe.”

Will sighs, and goes. Tom pulls him in once he meets arm’s reach—and Tom’s hand is so _warm,_ seriously, how is that possible—and soon enough Will is sitting, his knees knocking against Tom’s on the bench.

Tom leans in close, tilts his head up and presses a kiss to Will’s cheek. His lips are soft, gentle, like the stars somewhere up there beyond this rain—still shimmering. And then he pulls something salty out of his pocket, and offers it to Will: the popcorn, a little soggy but still buttery-gold.

“Think of it this way,” Tom says. “Now we’ll probably have the whole next bus to ourselves.”

“If you say so.” Will tries to keep scowling, but it’s hard, like this. In their own little world, this circle of brightness beneath the awning, the warmth of Tom’s skin seeping through Will’s soaked T-shirt.

“I do say so.” Tom tilts his head up, grinning at Will. “I’ll throw popcorn at everyone until they get off.”

Tom starts to act it out, balling his hands up and aiming at imaginary enemies. Will laughs, and Tom laughs too, and they huddle together, watching the streetlights reflected in the rain, gold light stretching out. Stars reaching down to earth.


End file.
